The Nothing

So, we've been married for six weeks now. And the first month slipped away from me in a giant hour of darkness.  Do you remember The Neverending Story?   Do you remember The Nothing?

That is how I spent the month of September; feeling as though I am being blown and pushed by a nameless, faceless darkness. And each time I would fight to get back up, it would knock me down again. And cover me in a sand that was so heavy and relentlessly immovable that I thought I would never be able to dig my way out of it. 

I lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, stared at the front window of our house (not out the window, *at* the window). I looked around the house and berated myself about the messy state of affairs. I forgot to eat for entire days and then would spend the darkness eating whatever I could find in the pantry. And then berated myself for eating. 

About a week ago, at 3 o'clock in the morning, I found myself sitting on the bathroom floor, quite literally having an argument with myself. 

I have to get it out of me. This food is killing me.  

I can't. I have to get up and walk away from it.  

If I can't puke, then how in the hell do I get rid of this....feeling? I cannot FEEL anymore.  

I have to figure out how to get past this. It's not going to be easy.  

But there's always a razor, or a scissors, or a steak knife, or hell, even just a sharp safety pin. 

Somehow something in me managed to drag myself out of the bathroom and into the hallway and onto the sofa into the comfortably uncomfortable divot that my ass has formed through my years of struggling with depression. 

And I prayed. Well, I prayed in the only way I could manage right then. "Help me. Show me. Love me. Please."  (What can I say? I'm a selfish pray-er when I'm in the midst of depression.) And I kept reminding myself (and I continue to remind myself) that I am a deeply loved child of God and that God has loved me even when I wasn't so sure I loved God. 

I prayed and kept praying until I got myself to my bi-weekly therapy appointment. And I prayed and kept praying until I took my meds every night.

"Courage is to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart." --Brene Brown

Endnote--

There are some who will read this, people whom I call my dear friends and whom I trust and respect deeply, who think that my prayers are useless, that I am crying out to a non-existent entity. And that is okay.

There are others who I trust and respect who will read this and think that I am poisoning my mind and body with psychiatry and psychiatric medication, that I should trust in God and His plans for me. And that is okay.